


The Mirror World

by kateyboosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: ALL THINGS THAT ARE GOOD, And oh yeah pejazzling? Kind of, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Crack, Gratuitous dream sequences of the j cloth manufacturing process, It's his blessing and his curse, M/M, Magical Cocks, Mirror Sex, Mirrorballs, Monsterfucking, Oops it was supposed to be straight crack and it turned out hot, Rainbows, Second First Times, Seduction by rag man, Sort Of, Two sets of em, Vince makes everything hot, ball play, hot crack, this is normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: After his monsterfucking awakening on Xooberon and his revitalizing revirginization back on Earth, Vince does some self-reflection. Some self-reflection in and out of seventeen mirrors. As usual, it turns out well for him.A rough sequel to Wood Work and a meeting of the mirrorballs, for the one and only Terrantalen.
Relationships: Vince Noir/Mr. Susan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: Trash Triplets Crackmas 2020: It's All About Range





	The Mirror World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Terrantalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/gifts).



> Merriest of (early) Crackmases to one of my partners in crack! Thanks for writing questionable things and inspiring me to write questionable things and for writing questionable things with me, completely on accident. As we all know, it’s called Range. Darling, I adore you.

Vince dreams.

Tucked up in his bed in the flat, scrubbed clean of grime and dust and sand, sheets pulled up to his chin and hair fanned on his pillow, he dreams. It's not his usual nighttime topics of bright colors and soft fabrics, like in his tent on Xooberon or hanging in his closet a few paces away.

At first, he’s in a place thick with trees and leaves and the sounds of animals scampering about.

For a moment, Vince thinks it’s his jungle, the one he grew up in, until he hears the buzzing sounds of saws, of trees falling, branches cracking, limbs crashing down sharp and sudden. He squirms in his sheets at the sound of hand sanders, tries to wake himself when wood pulp floods his vision, swirling and forming into sheets of blue absorbent fabric. Muted colors and chamois leather and a swirling kaleidoscope of sponges and rags and j cloths swarm his vision, closer and closer, prisms of light streaking out of nowhere, dazzling his vision, until-

Vince wakes sweaty and with his hair tangled, hearing a clipped, echoing laugh as he sits up in his sheets.

He can hear Howard snoozing down the hall and he knows he didn't sneak in or out of his room.

Vince’s mirrorball suit is lying on the floor, the arms slumped halfway out of his mirrored closet door, reaching towards the bed like a sticky, sleepy, albeit glittery kid reaches for its mum.

The scent of Windolene is hanging thick in the air.

Vince doesn’t think much of it at first, sighing as he gets out of bed to hang the suit back up. The cold air on his bare skin is enough of a shock to wake him up the rest of the way, one arm tucked across his chest, the other lovingly readjusting the sequins of the suit. He pads down the hall to the shower, letting warm water drum on the back of his neck as he watches it spool down the drain between his pigeon-toed feet.

The silk of Vince’s kimono is soft against his perfectly exfoliated skin as he peers in the mirror and moisturizes. He does his hair extra nicely, blowing it dry and then rooting around in the cabinets for his old jar of Naboo’s Miracle Wax, even though he doesn’t have anywhere to go except back to his room.

No particular plans, really, after returning home from an alien planet where he’d been proclaimed Chosen One and had his best mate serving his every whim and fancy while dressed up in a slave costume.

And had exchanged handies with a man made out of sandpaper.

Vince considers his reflection and swipes on a bit of eyeliner, a bit of mascara, a bit of balm and lippie.

But if he did have somewhere to go, if he wanted to figure out how to get back to a place he's not sure exists within the bounds of time and space, now would be a good time to do it, everyone but him having a lie in after the trip home from Xooberon. The journey back to the flat had been tiring, and as tasty as the juice from the Fountain of Youth was, it had been well exhausting being a nipper again.

At one point, Vince had thought he’d age back to his normal self simply through the natural process of time passing. He’d waited around _ages_ for Naboo to find the spell to turn the both of them back. He'd sat through endless rounds of Bollo trying to play peekaboo with Howard to cheer him up, and grimaced when it only made Howard cry harder instead.

But, even if Bollo’s particular brand of childcare was tiring and the entire situation made Vince even more impatient and cranky than usual, it had really worked out for him in the end.

Yeah, he wasn't _really_ the Chosen One, but the baby-to-man re-aging spell had reset his skin, practically disappeared every last pore from his face and made his straightener scar vanish. It had made him even more creamy and smooth than he had been the first time around, all of his desert-dry woes disappearing as he jetted back to his full height and his hair took on its proper circumference.

Howard, on the other hand… Howard hadn't fared so well.

Vince had tried to suppress a giggle when Naboo drawled out a flat apology, that Howard would definitely have to go through a second puberty. He mostly suppressed it, but a bit of a chuckle snuck out as Howard’s voice cracked with a combination of indignance and hormones, his hand slapping over his mouth to cover up the noise and the peach fuzz of his sad, wilty moustache.

He’d had a harder time not laughing when Naboo had dryly stated that they were both virgins again.

“Well, Vince is a virgin again,” Naboo drawled, with a wave of his hand that said, “Howard’s always been a virgin, always will be." The tiny shaman's raised eyebrow said, "Even after his first fuck.”

Judging by the sounds of his snoring this morning, Howard’s probably close to his thirties now, right about the same age he was when they’d sleep inches apart on the keeper’s hut floor, his hair wild and curly like it was when Vince pulled him out of Monkey Hell. Vince is tempted to peek into Howard’s room when he lopes back down the hall and see if he’s right, but he doesn’t want to risk waking him, not with the idea that’s brewing. 

Technically, he thinks, _technically_ , the last time he got off, he was on another planet. Plus, he’s a virgin again. If that’s not reason enough to try to trip through a mirror and get off with a rag beast, then Vince doesn’t know what is.

Imagine that, your second first time being with someone - some _thing_ \- that’s neither man nor woman, a mystical Guardian of the Mirrors! It's a match made in heaven for Vince Noir.

Besides, he thinks, it’s not like there are any willing sexual partners stashed in their beds down the hall in the flat, just waiting for Vince to move in and lose his second first virginity to. 

Vince ruffles a hand through his own perfectly glossy hair. It always helps him to think when he touches his locks, ideas zapping out of his follicles into his brain through his stimulated scalp. He can't very well go and sneak into Naboo's room and go through his stuff again to find a little cheeky helper for what he’s planning.

Well, he _could_ , using the skills he’d learned growing up in the jungles of India, but one false move, one lotion or potion or vial of powdered bat anuses knocked over and he'd have to explain to a tiny, angry, half-asleep shaman what he was doing creeping about. And he certainly doesn't want that. Naboo’s already gone from merely prickly to fully spiky, the whole ordeal of the past few days caused by Vince going through his stuff and then drinking the Youth juice and then the entire "what d'you think this is, Naboo's creche" lecture that had left baby Howard crying for an entire afternoon....

No, Vince has got to figure this one out by himself.

He shuts the door to his room and considers the space: bed, closet, dressing table, record player, heaps of clothing and boots and magazines that he was going to tidy the day he found the amulet and leaped to Xooberon instead.

Maybe more mirrors would help him get where he wants to go? He has a conservative six on display: a small hand mirror on his bedside table for nighttime gazing, his mirrored closet door, one over his dressing table, and one each on the walls opposite.

Oh, and one on the ceiling above his bed.

Vince grins. Also for nighttime gazing, that. Sometimes midafternoon gazing. And, alright, if he’s being truthful, morning gazing, too.

A lot of morning gazing, all warm and safe and sleepy, tucked up in his bed, his pants around his ankles in the sheets, one hand teasing-

Vince shakes his head. He’s got to focus. He considers. He can get the mirror count up to seventeen, easy. There’s one under his bed, the one in the back of his closet that needs polishing, his collection of going-out pocket mirrors, mirrors stashed in drawers, the antique hand mirror he got in the market, the one he’d lovingly polished over the bathroom sink last weekend....

Vince arranges them artfully, stepping back and repositioning like a photographer squaring a landscape, like a painter arranging a model. If he leans to the left, he can see the heron on the back of his kimono sleeve reflected in triplicate. If he leans right, he can see the bump of his kneecap and a bit of leg, muscles curling up his calf as he stretches.

Before he gets lost in his own reflection and in a nice, long, slow morning gazing session, Vince does a quick count.

Sixteen Vinces scowl back at him. One short.

He scrapes a hand through his hair.

Howard “doesn’t believe in mirrors,” and Vince has been through his stuff enough times to know there are none hidden in his jazzy beige nightmare of a room. Naboo keeps a few for scrying in the cabinet just inside his door, but Vince really can’t risk it.

The toaster? He’s been bored enough times waiting for his bread to pop that he’s chased his own reflection around in the dull gleam of the side. Some spoons? He could trek down to the van and smash one of the mirrors off the side, tell Howard some kids did it....

Vince’s fingernails scrape over the crown of his head, the sweet scent of Naboo’s Miracle Wax blending with the leftover Windolene in the air. Then, it hits him.

He lets his kimono pool at his feet and steps over to the closet.

The mirrorball suit winks at him cheekily when the light hits it.

Vince steps in and shimmies up the zip at the back, flipping his hair over his shoulders as he stuffs his feet into his favorite white platforms. There’s a little grin playing around the corners of his lips when he swings his closet door shut and repositions himself in the middle of the room, fluffing his hair one last time.

Satisfied, he nods, and all the Vinces nod back.

Vince closes his eyes. He squeezes them shut and holds his breath.

_One… two…_

_Three!_

He opens them.

Bed. Closet. Dressing table. Record player. Boot pile. He’s still there, in his room.

Vince closes his eyes again. He concentrates. He bends his knees, limbers up a bit, and at the count of three, does a little jump.

When he cracks an eye open, he’s still in his room.

Vince sighs. He paces and adjusts the tilt of one of the mirrors on the wall and sits on the edge of his bed. He feels slightly silly. Maybe he should just give up and go get a cup of tea and some biscuits, flip through Cheekbone and then have a cheeky wank while everyone’s still asleep. Why not have his second first time with himself? It’s been a while since he had a nice glitter wank, mirrorball suit around his ankles, and it’ll look good, he thinks, his eyes wandering around the room. It'll be like losing his second first virginity in an… eighteensome? He starts to tally, all these extra reflections-

Vince squeaks. He shoots off the bed and then immediately stumbles backwards, knocking himself right back to a sitting position when he collides with the mattress. He touches his face in disbelief, his mouth O-ed in shock, and trips forward, towards his mirrored closet doors.

A strange blue face stares back at him, wearing a manic, frozen grin.

Vince touches his face, then the mirror. Surely - surely - it hasn’t worked. It can’t be this easy, him getting what he wants ten seconds after he's given up.

He squeaks again, his thoughts interrupted when a hand shoots out of the smooth surface of the mirror, the sudden swish of rags splitting the air.

Mr. Susan grabs between Vince's legs, and tugs him into the Mirror World, mirrorballs first.

*

Vince is disoriented, the weird swirling sounds of the Mirror World wiping through his brain and down his ears, making the individual sequins rattle and hum on his jumpsuit before they settle all at once. He blinks and focuses on his reflection to center himself, hand in his hair. He breathes a sigh of relief when his own blue eyes greet him instead of blue skin, his own sharp nose and sculpted jaw present instead of Mr. Susan’s soft, squishy features.

Mr. Susan’s soft, squishy features are, in fact, obscured. He’s got his fabric face pushed into Vince’s thigh, nuzzling at him like an overenthusiastic cat trapped in a sack. His hand is creeping up the inside seam of Vince’s suit, dangerously close to Vince’s balls again.

Vince freezes when Mr. Susan pulls his face back with a high-pitched, joyous giggle. The strange soundtrack of the Mirror World hiccups when his hand reaches and then cups Vince’s balls.

Mr. Susan’s smile splits his ragged face.

“You! You came back! You came back as the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen!”

The soft fabric of his palm presses more insistently against Vince’s balls, the cup turning to a squeeze as Mr. Susan ducks his head, rubbing over Vince’s belly this time.

Vince watches the tableau of the two of them in the full length mirror in front of him, Mr. Susan humped on the floor and writhing like some strange fabric… mushroom. Vince is stunned that he’s here. He did it. It’s _actually happening_.

The force of Mr. Susan’s voice snaps him out of his disbelief.

“Vince! I have been so lonely, trapped with only my own reflection for company, for all eternity. And you have returned, you have finally returned!”

Mr. Susan’s hand darts between his own legs; a twinkling burst of light reflects around the room. “You’ve returned, with matching mirrorballs! Oh!” He blurts, rolling his mirrorballs through his fingers, his grip tightening on Vince’s.

His clipped tone lowers, sadness filtering through burlap. “I have been so lonely, Vince, so lonely without anyone to keep me company. No one has come since your visit,” he laments, tracing over Vince’s balls with a fingertip. The torn cloth around his face brings out the deep, sad brown of his eyes, liquid and soft as microfibre on Vince’s face. “I was a fool the last time you came, a fool to lecture you on the perils of vanity, a fool to waste precious time on offering up the intricacies of my tragic backstory."

The soundtrack to the Mirror World pauses; so does the movement of Mr. Susan's hand.

"Unless… uh. Unless you came back to hear every detail of my tragic backstory and I've made a-" 

Mr. Susan nods at Vince's rapidly stiffening cock and his hand hovering near Vince's balls. 

"- a mistake?" 

"Uh uh," Vince gulps.

"Ah! Wonderful!" Mr. Susan enthuses, the soundtrack to the Mirror World crashing back at full force. "The last time," he continues, "I asked you what you sought, never daring to hope, to dream-”

Vince shivers as Mr. Susan’s finger wanders, the pointed tip outlining his cock. “But now I know. Now, I know!"

"All along, Vince, all along, I should have been worshiping you,” he breathes.

Vince swallows. He shrugs. Mr. Susan’s not wrong. He tosses his head and licks his lips, his eyes a little hazy at the praise and the touches. Anyone who wastes time lecturing Vince K. Noir instead of celebrating him _is_ a bit of a fool, he thinks, until the sensation of a second fingertip running along his length has him tugging at the rags on top of Mr. Susan’s head.

Vince watches their reflection as Mr. Susan rises and twirls in delight. Vince’s cock jumps, the movement reminding him of Sandstorm whirling into the clearing on Xooberon, of Sand positioned behind him, stroking him off and sanding him down until there was nothing of the old Vince left. He gulps and squeezes himself through the fabric of the mirrorball suit when Mr. Susan stops behind him.

The rags of his body are still swaying in the mirror when he reaches for Vince’s zip.

"I have spent so much time alone. I have no lectures now. Let me worship you, Vince.”

He can feel the pointed tip of Mr. Susan’s finger trailing down his back, outlining his zip. He looks over his right shoulder and watches the movement of Mr. Susan’s hand along his spine in one of the small mirrors high on the wall. When he reaches the curve of Vince’s lower back, he swirls his fingertips, the wave of them scratching along the sequins.

“Vince,” Mr. Susan breathes, his hand creeping back around to Vince’s cock, dipping down to stroke against his balls. “I’ve waited an eternity. Let our mirrorballs finally meet.”

Vince arches his back into the touch, shifting his legs to spread them further. The scrape of his platforms against the floor snaps him out of his silence.

“Yeah, alright,” he stutters.

*

The mirrorball suit itches against Vince’s smooth skin as Mr. Susan peels it down, the warp in the sound of the Mirror World dizzying as he watches the sequins slide and then disappear down his body. Mr. Susan blurts an “Oh!” as he exposes every inch. The rasp of the fabric when it falls around Vince’s knees and catches on the top of his boots makes him shiver. He gulps at the juxtaposition of his milk-pale skin and the pink of his cock, his nipples, and his wet lips compared to Mr. Susan’s neutral beiges and burlaps and blues.

The reflection, man against rag man in over seventeen mirrors, makes Vince’s cock twitch wildly.

Mr. Susan immediately moves to face him, the swish of rags tickling his chest and arms. He fondles Vince’s bare balls, pulling them up around Vince’s shaft, half-playing with them, half-inspecting. He makes a little noise of appraisal, a “hmm” that Vince wants to question. It's a “hmm” that’s not of interest, or enjoyment, or “oh, yes, these are nice,” but a “hmm” that implies, “I have questions about these for later.”

Vince doesn’t think too much on it when Mr. Susan’s palm ghosts over the underside of his cock, his thighs tensing at the first touch.

“I know what you seek, Vince,” Mr. Susan enthuses, winding back around him, his fabric paws sliding firmly up over Vince’s bare chest, tweaking his nipples. A sponge squishes against Vince’s stomach as Mr. Susan traces his happy trail, a hand either side of him.

Vince leans back into the bulk of Mr. Susan, into his touches. He feels solid, like a pile of warm laundry heaped on him straight out of the dryer, a nest of blankets, a spongy mattress cradling Vince just right.

His eyes shoot open at the press of Mr. Susan’s cock to his backside. It’s soft to the touch, nearly velvety, but rock hard, and thick as a bolt of fabric against his arse.

“Microfibre, for your pleasure,” Mr. Susan says, low against Vince’s neck, pressing forward more confidently.

Vince is almost certain that if Mr. Susan had eyebrows, he’d be waggling them.

“But first,” Mr. Susan enthuses, “you must-”

His hands turn Vince, guiding him around and pressing into his shoulders until Vince understands he’s meant to kneel. He gets down on his knees less gracefully that he ever has before, his suit impeding him, tangling around his platforms.

He doesn’t mind though. When he makes it, he’s eye level with Mr. Susan’s impressive cock.

It’s fabric, microfibre for sure, but striped blue and white, almost like a j cloth. The tip is a pale peach sponge, light and delicate in contrast to Mr. Susan’s mirrorballs. Vince licks his lips and darts his tongue out to lap at them.

The individual bits of mirror are smooth and cool and pleasant under his tongue, but bumpy and textured where they’re joined together. Vince plays his tongue through one of the grooves and Mr. Susan clutches at his hair, a sharp “Oh!” falling from his lips. He grins and takes the left into his mouth, giving it a gentle suck as he works his hand up through the shaggy layers of Mr. Susan’s leg.

Strange, Vince thinks, feeling the cool material of Mr. Susan’s mirrorball warming in his mouth, strange how Mr. Susan’s legs feel so slim and powerful underneath the bulk of the fabric. He doesn’t think any longer when his hand reaches Mr. Susan’s thigh and glides to the base of his shaft, fabric whispering under Vince’s palm.

Vince tilts his head and takes the right mirrorball into his mouth, tonguing over the texture and sucking. His eyes dart up to Mr. Susan’s face, contorted in bliss. Another “Oh!” expels itself from Mr. Susan’s lips, and he clutches at Vince’s hair in ecstasy.

Vince lets his mirrorball fall out of his mouth, grinning at the soft clank it makes when it meets its partner, tiny zaps of light ricocheting around the room, dancing against Vince’s face and bare chest. He doesn’t give Mr. Susan time to catch his breath, diving onto his shaft and soaking the tip wet with his tongue.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Mr. Susan cries, flexing his pointy fingers into claws that move just outside of Vince’s line of vision.

Vince works his jaw carefully, building up saliva in his mouth. Mr. Susan’s fabric cock takes all he can give, absorbing until Vince’s mouth is dry and he has to pull off, wiping bits of lint away from his lips and chin. He’s just about to dive back on and see if he can take Mr. Susan to the back of his throat, fingers tangling in the long rags of Mr. Susan’s arse, when he pulls back, just out of the reach of Vince’s mouth, and twirls around.

When Mr. Susan comes to a stop, he giggles, high-pitched and delighted. He pats the top of Vince’s head and with a flourish, gives his cock a cheeky squeeze. Vince is half-disgusted, half-intrigued as he watches the darkened fabric discharge a bit of moisture.

All at once, he understands. No need for lube in the Mirror World, not with a fabric cock that can absorb and exude liquid at will.

Vince grins. He knows exactly what he must look like, chest heaving, cock rock hard and leaking, devilish smile on his face. He knows exactly what he looks like, because he’s looking at his reflection, dropped to his knees, in at least seven mirrors.

Vince lets his mouth fall open, teasing his tongue out between his teeth. He meets Mr. Susan’s eyes and licks a slow trail over his top lip. Mr. Susan nods his head knowingly and steps forward, the sponge tip of his cock bumping Vince’s lip.

Vince darts his eyes between Mr. Susan’s and their reflection in the mirror closest to him. He watches himself tease the head of Mr. Susan’s cock from three different angles, leaning to lick along his entire shaft from four. He’s just about to take Mr. Susan back in his mouth when he moves out of reach.

When Vince tears his eyes away from his reflection and meets Mr. Susan’s, he’s almost certain that if Mr. Susan had eyebrows, he’d be furrowing them.

He taps Vince on the shoulder and then hauls him up, Vince grabbing at the mirrorball suit before it tangles his legs on the way up. “That’s enough!” Mr. Susan blurts. “You must ready yourself,” he says, guiding Vince’s hand up to his own mouth, pushing two of Vince’s fingers past his lips.

Vince sucks eagerly, shifting his legs apart almost involuntarily when he flicks his tongue between his middle and index fingers. His other hand creeps into his hair as he sucks, his hips pushing forward. He’s vaguely aware of Mr. Susan behind him, twirling around and giggling as he waits.

When Vince spreads his legs and reaches around to open himself, Mr. Susan holds his hips, steadying him. He watches Vince’s face in the mirror, assessing.

Vince bites his bottom lip when he pushes his first finger in, shivering at the sponges on Mr. Susan’s hand tickling his skin. He finds his prostate, fingertip ghosting over it and then pressing firmly. Mr. Susan’s hand creeps down until it’s circling the base of Vince’s cock. Vince half-grins, half-pants. He rubs at his prostate and then pushes a second finger in, scissoring himself open. He twitches his hips forward into the circle of Mr. Susan’s hand, groaning out, “Go on, then.”

Fuck if he doesn't look good like this, the smooth, pale line of his body, the line of hair on his stomach leading down to his pretty cock, his face and chest flushed, fingers spreading inside himself....

Vince just catches the movement of Mr. Susan’s head, shaking out a quick “no,” his eyes completely focused on himself and what he’s doing instead. Mr. Susan leans to whisper low in his ear. His tone tears Vince’s eyes away from himself in the mirror. 

“I see that a lecture on vanity would not be lost on you after all.”

Mr. Susan pumps his cock and Vince whimpers at how good it feels, hitting his prostate again, his toes gripping the soles of his boots. “Yes,” Mr. Susan says, as if he’s talking to himself, absentmindedly teasing at Vince’s slit as he grinds his teeth. “I see now what must be done.”

Vince is nearly open, nearly ready; he knows what must be done. He stretches himself a few seconds more and smooths over his prostate on the way out, biting his lip as he feels precum drip out of his cock.

“Come on, ‘m ready,” he pants, tugging on a bit of fabric dangling from Mr. Susan’s chest.

“Oh!” Mr. Susan gasps, breathily. He bats Vince’s hand away and regains his composure with a quick twirl. “Now! It is time for you to do the choosin’! Which one shall it be?”

Mr. Susan gestures to a full length mirror to their right. “Will it be this one here?” he singsongs. “Or that one there?” He points to a mirror on their left. “You must choose!” he blurts, his voice swinging low again as he says, “But choose wisely! Just as one of these mirrors leads to pure fabric ecstasy, one leads to limbo! You must-”

Vince has his hands braced on the mirror to their left before Mr. Susan can finish, his legs spread and his arse in the air.

“Oh,” Mr. Susan says flatly. “Alright. Good choice.”

Vince nearly rolls his eyes. “As if I was going to pick the one on the right. I can see my hair from every angle in this one-”

Mr. Susan’s fabric palm comes down on the meat of Vince’s arse, snapping at him like a wet towel, and he squeaks. “Hush! You cannot simply base all of your decisions in life on your appearance!” he sputters. 

Vince leans back a bit. He’s ready to retort, to say something else cheeky. Instead, he watches Mr. Susan’s hands claw into frustrated fists that he shakes in the air before reaching behind him. Vince hears a sharp “Oh!” and a tearing sound, before Mr. Susan’s hand reappears holding a length of soft chamois leather.

Vince bites his lip. He’s not averse to being tied up, but he’s not quite sure how it’s supposed to work, how he’d support himself with his hands tied, the mirrorball suit tangled in a heap around the top of his boots. Mr. Susan runs the soft cloth across his arse, then up his back and over his shoulder, and oh. _Oh._

Vince twigs it. He tries to suppress the devilish grin crawling across his face. He is _well_ into this.

He turns his face toward Mr. Susan like the sun rolling up over the horizon, and lifts his chin so Mr. Susan can blindfold him.

The leather feels cool against Vince’s flushed skin, the knot at the back of his head secure. He braces himself against the frame of the mirror again, wiggling his arse back in the air.

The first light touch of Mr. Susan’s fingertip to his spine makes Vince jump in anticipation. The blindfold magnifies every sensation. It makes Vince focus fully on what Mr. Susan is doing, touching him, instead of on his reflection. It’s taken him out of the Vince in the mirror and brought him back completely into his body.

Vince shivers when Mr. Susan positions himself between his legs, his damp cock pressing to Vince’s thigh, then his cheek, then his hole. Vince wiggles back against him, a sharp “Oh!” shooting from Mr. Susan’s lips right to Vince’s cock. The spongy tip feels strange and wet, but not unpleasant as he rubs it against Vince before starting to push forward.

The sensation is strange, being breached by fabric. It gets stranger when Mr. Susan stops halfway in and wiggles with an excited "Oh!", and Vince feels more dampness helping to ease the slide of Mr. Susan’s cock. A fabric palm runs up his back as Mr. Susan wiggles and "Oh!"s again, sliding all the way home.

Vince steadies himself against the frame of the mirror once more before Mr. Susan slides halfway out and then thrusts forward. 

As Mr. Susan moves, Vince has no choice but to concentrate on every sensation, every little zap of pleasure shooting through his body, every little rustle of fabric and quake of Mr. Susan's thick, warm body. He almost slips and thanks his vanity out loud for getting him into this position. He'd never have thought to blindfold himself for his second first time; it's _genius_. Every breath seems deeper, every noise seems louder, every touch seems _more_. 

Vince rocks back against Mr. Susan when he speeds, panting heavier as Mr. Susan's "Oh!"s chain out and out and out, mixing and streaking with the swirling sounds of the Mirror World. He fills Vince so perfectly; it's almost dizzying how well they move together. 

Mr. Susan swipes every bead of sweat that trickles down Vince's back. He moans at the sheer absorbency when the rag man palms over his chest. " _Ohhhh… yesssss_ ," he hisses as Mr. Susan wiggles inside him again. His "Oh!" is short and sharp and high-pitched compared to Vince's. God, the absorbency and the… _fuck_ , whatever the opposite of absorbency is, whatever term you'd use for having a lube-dispensing fabric cock wedged up against your prostate just right is, _that's_ what Vince is appreciating. 

"Fuck," he whines as Mr. Susan's hands creep up his chest, brushing his hair back from his neck. He wishes Mr. Susan would just touch him already, stick his palm over Vince's mouth and let him wet it, then wrap it tight around his aching cock and pump him in time with his thrusts. Mr. Susan's hands come up to his chin and Vince drops his mouth open, hoping he'll catch on. His pointy fingertips slide along Vince's jaw and then they're at the back of Vince's head and the blindfold is hanging loose around his throat and _fuck_ , he must have gone blind from it-

Vince opens his eyes in a daze.

The Mirror World is… it's a fucking _rainbow_. 

The glittering slap of Mr. Susan's mirrorballs and the movement of Vince's twisted sequins are throwing splashes of light and color onto every reflective surface, reds and blues and purples pinging across Vince's chest, greens and yellows and oranges skating across Mr. Susan's pleasure-soaked face.

It's the most beautiful thing Vince has ever seen.

He cries out, a sharp "ahhh" that ends in a whimper when Mr. Susan's hand finally drops to his cock. His knees go weak and his thighs clench and he gasps when Mr. Susan squeezes him gently. Vince feels the fabric of his palm dampen at the touch. He gives Vince a slick pump, perfectly in time with his thrusts. "Oh, fuck, _fuck me_ ," Vince whines, his fingertips digging into the mirror frame, scrabbling at the varnish. 

"Vince," Mr. Susan pants. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Vince, look."

Vince lifts his head from where he's dropped it between his shoulders and his taut arms, watching Mr. Susan work his cock. He takes in the full picture: his body gleaming and reflected over seventeen times, covered in shimmering rainbows, Mr. Susan's fist speeding over the deep pink of his cock, his blue face kissed with prisms of light and the bulk of his body shaking as he slams into Vince. 

For a moment, right as he's on the edge, his reflection stretches to infinity, his mouth open in a perfect O, rainbows dazzling his vision. Mr. Susan pumps him twice, hard, and Vince comes whimpering and wide eyed, all over Mr. Susan's hand, but mostly on the mirror. 

" _Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck_ ," he whispers, his entire body shaking. Mr. Susan's got a hand on his nipple, pinching, and one on his hip, bending him nearly in half as he speeds his thrusts, the thwack of his balls and the rags on his thighs splitting the sound of the Mirror World and Vince's heavy breathing. 

Mr. Susan freezes. He pulls out, and yanks Vince to standing so quick his nails scrape into the mirror frame, and wedges his cock against the curve of Vince's lower back all at once. 

His "OH!" rattles the mirrors on the wall as he comes explosively onto Vince's back, Windolene running down his arse and the backs of his twitching thighs. The rainbow lightshow fades as he stops moving, but not before he pulls away and a festive burst of holographic glitter jets out of his cock and into the air. 

He pulls away from Vince and slips the chamois strip away from his neck, cleaning the last traces of Windolene off of the curve of Vince's arse, his rags having absorbed the majority as they'd been pressed together. Vince is semi-aware of Mr. Susan giggling and twirling and dropping down to mop spare Windolene droplets away from the floor. He watches dazed as Mr. Susan reaches behind one of the mirrors and produces a spray bottle. He squeezes the chamois out into the bottle, replaces the nozzle, and gives the mirror a festive spritz, swiping at the streaks of come that Vince has left all over the surface. 

He gives the bottle a jaunty shake. "I can send you home with one of these, if you'd like, as a souvenir," he singsongs, twirling to brandish the bottle. "I have a stockpile over there, in the Happy Fun Times Corner!"

Vince twists to follow his finger, reaching to hike the mirrorball suit up his legs. Sure enough, hidden behind two mirrors is a stash of Windolene piled nearly to the ceiling in jars, cups, pails, and bottles with sticky spray nozzles. 

Vince gulps, pulling the suit up over his arse. Suddenly, under Mr. Susan's tiny-eyed stare zeroing in on the region of his balls, he feels extra naked. "Thanks, but that's alright." 

Mr. Susan frowns. "You don't wish to have a reminder of our time together?"

Vince stumbles forward, still a little unsteady on his legs. His boots aren't helping, either. He loses his grip on the mirrorball suit and it slides down his legs before he can catch it. 

"Ah!" Mr. Susan nods. "I see! Yes, yes, _now_ I understand. You came for the full detailing!" He spritzes the air with his spray bottle and whirls. His palms are full of sparkling rhinestone crystals when he stops and opens his hands, offering them out to Vince.

Vince isn't sure if he's supposed to take one, like a kid getting a lolly after a shot at the doctor's, or if he's supposed to take a handful and fling them in the air, or what. He reaches for his suit, ready to make his excuses and go. 

"It's been fun, but I've really got to get back-" he starts.

Mr. Susan grabs him by the balls. Again.

He giggles. "So, I am mistaken? You didn't come for the pejazzling?" he asks, sticking his handful of crystals under Vince's nose. His eyes cross at the sudden dazzling brightness, reflections of what he saw in the rainbows of the Mirror World creeping back onto his skin.

Vince hesitates. He nearly says yes, but Mr. Susan loosens his grip on Vince's balls and twirls again. "Perhaps next time," he enthuses, starting on what Vince can tell is going to be a very long singsong. "Make sure! you come! waxed! For wax, it-" 

Vince sees his chance. "Bye," he calls, leaning back into the full length mirror. The soundtrack above him twists and warps and Vince flops backward onto the floor of his room. 

He breathes a sigh of relief.

Vince shucks his boots off lying down, and wiggles out of the mirrorball suit, leaving it crumpled on the ground.

The flat's dead silent except for the sounds of Howard's snores. 

He catches a glimpse of the clock on his wall; Iggy's bendy arms have barely changed position since he's left.

"Cool," he nods, scooping himself up onto the bed, squirming to get comfortable in his soft sheets. 

His hair fans out on the pillow. A nice lie-in after his second devirginization, then, and maybe after that, a long hot soak, and maybe after that, Howard'll be up and puttering around the kitchen and he'll make them tea and toast and put extra butter and jam on Vince's without Vince having to ask, and then he'll see if he kept that wax warmer and-

Vince's lashes flutter on his cheeks.

Vince dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Did we mention that Crackmas is a made-up holiday that's all about the glitter and the sparkle? Mr. Susan and Vince were just celebrating in style.


End file.
